


So Screwed

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9678335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: An anon request a John x Reader fic where the reader is around Sam’s age and hooks up with John during a hunt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by @manawhaat

She’s young, probably about as young as Sam. She shouldn’t be hunting. She should be in college, living the life a girl her age deserves. But she’s here, hunched over an ancient book in Bobby’s study, utterly beautiful despite the stitches on her forehead from what she said was a shapeshifter.

Y/N grumbles about her hair under her breath and pulls it back in a quick, messy ponytail with the hair tie that John has decided is a permanent fixture on her wrist. Her eyes never leave the book in front of her.

She’s beautiful. So young and so beautiful.

“Fuck,” she growls, turning a page. “Where the fuck am I going to find lambs blood to dip a silver knife in?”

“Hunting a djinn?” John asks, leaning casually against the doorframe as he announces his presence. “Bobby probably has lambs blood. He’s good at keeping that kind of thing on hand, in case anyone needs it.”

She finally looks up. “You think? That would make life easier. My partner is waiting for me at the motel, but I’m not sure how helpful she’ll be. She sprained her ankle pretty badly dealing with that shifter.” Y/N rubs a hand over her face with a sigh. “Well, I guess I should go ask Bobby about that lambs blood, then.”

John stands aside to let her through the door, letting his eyes trail down her body as she walks away. He mentally scolds himself. She’s young and gorgeous, and so far out of his league it’s not even funny, and he really needs to back off.

John is so screwed.

* * *

Bobby’s got the blood in his fridge, which you’re trying to forget about. You tuck the jar between some rolled up towels in the trunk so it doesn’t shatter on the way to the motel your partner is in.

John is digging around in the backseat of his truck when you come back out to put your duffel in the car.

“Already headin’ out?” he asks, emerging with what looks like a toolbox.

“Yeah. The sooner I get going, the fewer people are going to die.”

“Of course,” he says with a chuckle.

That sound. Fuck. You really shouldn’t, but you really want to. John Winchester is gorgeous- dimpled smile under a salt and pepper beard, dark eyes that have seen too much, broad shoulders wrapped in leather. He’s sin and temptation in every sense of the words, and as he bends over to look for something in his truck again, the curve his ass wrapped in worn denim has heat pooling in your stomach.

“You know,” he drawls, emerging with a silver knife in his free hand. “If your partner’s not good to hunt, I could help. It’s not safe to hunt alone, especially monsters like djinn. They’re sneaky bastards.” He shoots you a questioning glance, the arch of his brow teetering on a dare.

You should say no, but he has a point. Djinn are known for their trickery. Going up against one alone was practically a kamikaze mission, and with Amy laid up in the motel…

“Sure,” you hear yourself saying. “I’d really appreciate that.”

You are so screwed.

* * *

You hate djinn.

The son of a bitch is hiding in the second warehouse you search, where it has a teenage girl strung up. It knocks both you and John around quite a bit before you’re able to stab it. You rush the girl to the hospital while John cleans up the scene. Once you’ve seen her into the capable hands of several ER nurses, you return to the warehouse where John is waiting outside.

“You better get in or I might steal this sweet ride of yours,” you joke, leaning across the cab to push open the passenger side door.

“Let me drive,” he grunts.

You eye the way he’s holding his arm. “With a dislocated shoulder? I don’t think so. I got the girl to the hospital just fine. I think I’m okay to drive to the motel. I’ll relocate your shoulder and you can patch up my back.”

“If you get blood on my seats, I swear-”

“Relax,” you scoff lightly as he settles into the truck. “Now I know where Dean gets it.” When John shoots you a questioning look, you explain. “We ran into each other on a ghost hunt last March. Amy was dealing with some family stuff and I happened to catch wind of the same case as Dean. He’s a damn good hunter, but you’d think his car was made of gold.”

John looks like his wants to comment, but he doesn’t. You know why. Dean told you how the car had belonged to his father, and that the brothers practically grew up in the backseat.

The rest of the drive is silent. You park the truck beside your own car and climb out. Amy’s car is in the parking lot and the light in your motel room is off, telling you that she’s asleep.

“Mind if I patch up in your room?” you ask as you dig your first aid kit out of the backseat of your car. “I don’t want to wake up Amy.”

“Sure.”

John’s not a man of many words, you’re learning.

After he’s checked the salt line and other protections he put up in the room, you help John put his shoulder back in place. The sound he makes has your breath catching in your throat- a soft, but deep noise that rises from his chest. You bite the inside of your cheek to ward of the wave of arousal.

Once his shoulder is good, John strips off his shirt. You swallow hard, taking in the strong muscles, dusted with dark hair. His jeans sit low on his hips, boxers peeking over the waistband. You managed to help him patch up the claw marks on his side without jumping him, though.

“Let me see your back,” he says when he’s finished taping down the bandage on his side.

You sit on the end of the bed and shakily pull your shirt up so he can see the effects of being thrown against a metal staircase by a djinn. You’re going to be sore and bruised in the morning, but the jagged lacerations on your upper back are your most serious injuries.

John’s hands are calloused, but gentle. He stitches up the deepest two and bandages all of them with a skill that can only come from experience. When you glance over your shoulder, you find him intent on his task. It almost looks like he’s fighting the urge to do something- what, you’re not sure.

“Done,” he tells you. “I hope you’re up to date on your tetanus shots, those stairs were fuckin’ filthy.”

“I’ll be fine,” you assure him. You lower your shirt, though his hand doesn’t move from where it’s settled in the curve of your lower back. The heat of his skin on yours is intense, made even more-so by the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You turn to look at him, your eyes locking with his dark ones. His expression is unreadable right up until he leans in and kisses you.

You melt into his touch, bringing your hands up to cup his face as his touch on your back guides you closer.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he whispers, pulling back a little. “I’m old enough to be your dad.”

“And I’m old enough to consent,” you reply.

“Barely.”

“Still legal. I want you to fuck me, John. If you say no, I’ll go back to my room and we can act like this never happened. If you say yes-”

His mouth crashes into yours before you can even finish, hands pressing your body tight against his. You curl your arms around his neck and hang on for the ride.

John’s body is huge against yours, hard muscle with a little bit of softness on his belly. Your hands roam over his skin, memorizing every curve in case this never happens again. With your encouragement, he pulls your t-shirt over your head and tosses it aside. Part of you wishes you’d worn a nicer bra than your plain black one, even though wearing nice clothes on hunts is asking to have them ruined. John doesn’t seem to mind, though, judging by the way his hands cup your breasts as he begins kissing his way down your neck. His facial hair scrapes pleasantly against your skin and you know you’re going to have beard burn, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Any reminder of this night will be a good reminder.

“Can I?” John asks, breath hot against the curve of your shoulder as his hands slip around to your back.

“Please.”

He skillfully undoes the clasp of your bra. With it out of the way, you’re fully aware of the way his callouses scrape your skin. You’re a hunter, tough and capable, but in his arms and beneath his hands, you’re delicate, soft, and keening for more. His thumbs brush over your nipples, drawing a hushed gasp from your lips.

John grins and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap. You giggle into the kiss and run your fingers through his hair. You can feel his arousal straining against his zipper when you grind down with your hips. The motion drags a groan from low in John’s chest.

“Someone’s eager,” he teases, even as his fingers dip below the waistband of your jeans to cup your ass.

“Sure are. Whatcha gonna do about it, old man?” you reply, matching his playful tone.

“Exactly what you want me to do.”

With that, he grabs your hips and flips you around, your freshly bandaged back pressed into the mattress. His body covers yours and your thighs fall open so he can press his hips into yours.

“Stay,” he orders, taking your arms from around his neck and pressing them down onto the bed.

You don’t move when he gets up. You watch as he unceremoniously strips off his jeans and boxers. His cock bobs up toward his stomach, thick and a decent length, leaning slightly to the left. The sight has a wet heat gathering between your thighs. He steps closer and you reach for him, but stop when your hand is barely skimming his hipbone.

“Are you clean?” you ask. A bit blunt, yes, but you’ve discovered it’s best to be blunt.

“Yes. I get checked regularly and I always use a condom.”

You smile and nod. “There are condoms in the end pocket of my duffle.”

You take advantage of him turning his back to you to strip off your jeans and underwear. When he turns around, condom in hand, a grin spreads across his face. You scooch up further on the bed, leaning back on your elbows.

John gets onto the bed and crawls up your body, spreading your thighs with his knees. “You’re gorgeous,” he says, voice low and rough.

A blush spreads over your cheeks and you suddenly feel a little self-conscious. You curl your fingers into the comforter as John leans in and kisses you, slow and deep. Your body practically melts under his, hands coming up to grip his shoulders. One of his hands finds its way between your thighs, fingertips brushing lightly over your folds. You whine into the kiss and try to push your hips up into his touch, but the hand retreats.

“Hold still for me, sweetheart,” John murmurs, dipping down to suck a mark on your collarbone. “Just let me take care of you.”

You bite your lip, but nod. He moves lower, sucking a nipple into his mouth. You gasp and push your chest up, encouraging him. He chuckles around his mouthful, teeth gently tugging at the sensitive bud. Between his mouth and the finger he slips inside you, he’s able to reduce you to a moaning mess in minutes. Your body is shaking under his. Your eyes closed at some point- you’re not sure when- but they open again when he begins kissing a path down your stomach.

He puts your legs over his broad shoulders, hands huge on your thighs. You bite your lip and lift your head so you can meet his gaze.

“Is this okay?” he asks, concerned.

You nod frantically and that’s all he needs. John licks a wide, wet stripe over your pussy, from your entrance up. When he reaches your clit, he pauses to suck lightly on it before repeating the move.

John Winchester is an oral sex expert, apparently. He spends time exploring, finding all your most sensitive spots, before really going to town. The whole time, you can look down and see his dark eyes watching you- watching your expressions and the way your breasts bounce a little with a particularly harsh breath. His arm wraps around your hips, keeping you pinned to the bed, helpless against the assault. By the time he lets up, you’re verging on oversensitive in the wake of three orgasms.

“John, please,” you beg when he sits up. “Please, fuck me.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he smirks, already tearing open the condom.

He quickly rolls the condom on, your only warning before he begins pushing inside. You moan, back arching off the bed. He takes the opportunity to slip his good arm under you and pull your body up against his. The show of strength shouldn’t be so damn sexy, but it most definitely is. You grab at his shoulders as he lifts you enough to turn so he’s sitting on the bed again, you spread across his lap. You gasp when the change in angle drives him deeper inside you.

“John,” you whine.

“Ride me, baby girl,” he orders, hands falling to your hips.

You draw in a deep breath and start to move. It takes you a few minutes, but you manage to set up a steady rhythm that draws pleased sounds from both of you. When your thighs start to burn and your pace slows, John tightens his grip and helps you keep moving for a few more minutes before flipping you around. The bed is just the right height for him to stand and fuck you. His hands wrap around your calves, holding and spreading your legs.

“Feel so good,” he growls, grip tight enough to leave bruises.

You whine, grabbing at the sheets to keep yourself from scooting up the bed under the force of his thrusts. He drops your legs so he can lean down and kiss you, one hand working its way between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. It doesn’t take long for him to bring you to orgasm again. You clench around his cock, limbs wrapped around his muscular torso. His hips stutter, and then he stiffens with a low groan.

“Fuck,” John breaths, forehead pressed against yours.

You kiss him again.

* * *

In the morning, John is gone, but there’s a new contact- “J”- in your phone and a note telling you to call him if you ever need help on a hunt again. You smile, burrowing into the warm blankets and tugging his pillow to your chest.

Maybe you’ll call. Maybe you won’t.


End file.
